


For Lack Of A Better Word

by bottleredhead



Series: Bondlock Drabbles [2]
Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, 30 Day OTP Challenge, M/M, There will be cuddling, There will be fluff, You Have Been Warned, there will be angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:06:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottleredhead/pseuds/bottleredhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[30 Day OTP Challenge]</p><p>Little snippets into James Bond and our favourite Quartermaster's lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Want To Hold Your Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 1: Holding Hands

_Oh yeah, I'll tell you something,_  
 _I think you'll understand._  
 _When I'll say that something_  
 _I want to hold your hand,_  
 _I want to hold your hand,_  
 _I want to hold your hand._

"No, Bond."

"But Q..."

"I said no."

*

_Oh please, say to me_  
 _You'll let me be your man_  
 _And please, say to me_  
 _You'll let me hold your hand._  
 _Now let me hold your hand,_  
 _I want to hold your hand._

"We're not even in MI6 anymore, so why not?"

"Because."

Q doesn't say much after that, but his mind buzzes with all the ways that almost-sentence could end.

Because I won't let go of you if you hold my hand.

Because I'll like it too much and that scares me.

Because two grown men holding hands isn't the least bit conspicuous.

Because I don't want to know how reality fares against my imagination; what if they don't match?

Because I can't type as quickly with one hand, you adorable halfwit.

Really, the possibilities are endless.

*

The cafe isn't crowded but is by no means empty. The 00 agent and his quartermaster are seated at a table for two by the scenic windows, mugs of black coffee and Earl Grey, respectively, sitting half-empty in front of them.

Eyes not flickering from the laptop in front of him, Q nonchalantly extends his left hand to grasp Bond's in his.

The sensation is like a half-remembered memory. Bond's hand is soft yet calloused, hard edges where his knuckles are. It's warmth seeps into Q's ever-cold one with a surprising familiarity, not unlike how you would greet a relative you grew up with but haven't seen in a long time; affectionate, excited and just the tiniest bit wary.

Bond, for his part, merely raises an eyebrow at their joined hands, eyes drinking in the scene with a smug self-satisfied air. His lips curve into a knowing smile.

"Something to say, Bond?" Q asks as a light flush colours his cheeks.

The smile grows into a wider, mischievous one. "Nothing at all, Q."

But his grip tightens around his lover's hand.

_And when I touch you I feel happy inside._  
 _It's such a feeling that my love_  
 _I can't hide, I can't hide, I can't hide._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics are from I Want To Hold Your Hand by the Beatles.


	2. These Moments Define Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Cuddling somewhere

It's these moments that Bond thinks of when he's off on a mission, the moments where they're a somewhat twisted version of domestic bliss, the assassin and the computer genius, and the grumpy, fat cat.

He loves being the one to take Q apart into a quivering mess of moans with his mouth and hands, the only one who can touch and bite and lick and mark. He loves the sounds Q makes when he's close to reaching release. He loves watching the always-composed man come undone underneath him. He loves the feeling of Q arching into him as his nails dig into the agent's back.

More than all that, he loves hanging around Q's flat on a Saturday in his pyjamas, the Quartermaster clicking away happily on his keyboard as Bond watches a match or becomes Schrodinger's scratching pole. It's the closest he's ever come to normal.

Before Q, he'd have asked you what's so great about normal, anyway. His life is something you'd expect to find in a Mission Impossible movie, except he's way sexier than that Tom Cruise bloke.

His life is different now.

There's always a steaming mug of black coffee waiting for him on the bedside table each morning. The ever-present clacking of fingers on keys has become his bedtime lullaby. The lump of fur falling asleep on his lap most nights is now a common occurrence.

Those moments are few and far between, what with terrorists not being considerate enough to realise that spies need a break, too. But when it's just him and Q, Bond feels something akin to happiness.

He doesn't rush to label it; years of death and destruction have taught him that happiness is not _always_ a good thing, but is _always_ an indicator for trouble ahead.

*

"What are you brooding about, Bond?"

Q's voice breaks him out of his reverie. He looks up to find the man in question staring at him with a sardonically raised eyebrow, a Q trademark if there ever was one.

Bond's eyes can't help to appraise his lover. The man is all lines, bones protruding from pale skin that just begs to be bitten. The wild mop of hair atop his head has been used as a steering wheel many times by Bond during sex; it's also been the softness that tickles his chest as he struggles into wakefulness. Q's long fingers are miracle workers in more ways than one but Bond especially loves how they run up and down the length of his neck when they're drifting off to sleep.

A light flush creeps over Q's face. "Stop staring at me like that; it's disconcerting, you great dolt."

"Come here." Bond doesn't give him a chance to answer, choosing instead to scoop him up from his place on the bed next to him and tucking him into his own broad, well-muscled chest.

Q begins protesting at being spooned, hands raising to tug at the arms wrapped around his chest. "Now is not the time for cuddling, 007, I have work that needs to be done before the next meeting of heads..."

The protestations die as Bond begins running his hand through Q's hair, fingernails slightly scratching the scalp underneath in a way that makes Q's toes curl in pleasure.

A few moments later, the man being cuddled starts purring contentedly, so feline-like he could give his own cat a run for its money. The sound makes Bond smile against Q's neck, inhaling the scent of cleanliness and copper wires that seemed to be all Q.

If there ever was an aphrodisiac that could bring a grown man to his knees with want, Bond supposes it would be Q's scent.

Later, as his lover drifts into a satisfied sleep in his arm, Bond thinks that yes, these are the moments he loves the most.

 


End file.
